


Picnic

by JMount74



Series: Fluffember 2020 [6]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27431245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JMount74/pseuds/JMount74
Summary: A typical British summer, a picnic and a river.
Series: Fluffember 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997284
Kudos: 3





	Picnic

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffember!

The sky was a pale slate grey, a solid mass of ‘I’m not going to be nice for you.’ As if he would expect anything else from the great British summer. Still, he had come prepared.

Coat – check  
Hat – check  
Umbrella – check  
Gloves – check

He was used to the heat of Kansas in mid-summer, Britain even at its’ hottest did not come close. So he ignored the amused glances from everyone as he carried on striding up the sidewalk, intent on his destination.

On the pavement at the agreed meeting point stood the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Strawberry blond hair in long soft curls, green eyes with flecks of honey and gold, and the cutest nose ever.

He was in heaven. Until she looked at him, did a double-take, and burst out laughing.

‘What on earth are you dressed as?’ He looked himself over and looked back at her. ‘It’s called “I want to be warm and comfortable in this freezing hell of an island.”’ Her laugh tinkled merrily around him.

She tucked her arm into his, so amused that she was wearing a light summer dress with a short cardigan compared to his smart shirt, jeans, jacket, coat, hat and gloves. Gloves! It was June for goodness sake, and he had been stationed here for months – long enough to know the weather. Hmm, maybe he did know the weather.

‘Where are we going?’ she enquired. Standing on the corner of St. Aldates and Queens Street while the crowds milled around was not her idea of fun. And she had been promised fun.

Grabbing hold of her hand, they quickly strode through the streets, a purpose in his steps but no clue as to what or where they were going. Stopping suddenly in front of one of the many Taylor’s sandwich shops, he left her momentarily outside while he nipped in, grabbed and paid for something and rushed out again.

A wicker picnic basket was swinging from his hand. He grabbed her hand with the other and they were off again, she was almost running to keep up. Weaving in and out of the crowds, up this road, down that street, across this bridge, until – until they were at the river. 

THE river. The Isis, as most Oxfordtonians called it, the Thames to everyone else. There she lay, babbling along, and they stood for several minutes just watching the light play across the small waves and ripples caused by the boats.

Throwing her a grin, he rushed her down the winding steps and onto a boat. A rather large boat. One that was decked out in ribbons and had enough room for probably about 40 standing people.

On the deck were two chairs and a table. On the table was a tablecloth, obviously weighted not to blow away in the gentle breeze, and plates.

Handing the basket over to one of the men waiting for them, he pulled her up to the bow as the staff around them cast off, turning the boat near the bridge and heading down the river. They stood watching the people disappearing, watching the greenery and fields around them.

They saw grebes and voles and swans and geese. There was the odd splash from fish, the odd dive of a swallow or swift or martin – she wasn’t sure which – and as they progressed down the river, the sun gradually made it’s appearance. In reaction to this he started taking his layers off until they two of them were lying on his coat on the deck, staring up at the sky, chatting about everything and nothing.

A discrete cough told them that the meal was ready. Getting up and turning around, she gasped at the feast laid out before them. A picnic indeed! Sandwiches, salad, cakes, jelly and fruit. They took their seats and meandered over the food as the boat meandered over the water.

There was even a half-bottle of champagne.

After eating their fill they returned to the bow, sitting on chairs this time, and just watched. Time past but it held no meaning for either of them, and she surprised herself when he roused her and it was getting dark – she had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and they were back in Oxford.

He put the coat back on – the evening air was chilly – and thanked the steward profusely. It had been a perfect day, and he had not needed the umbrella or the gloves. They disembarked and slowly made their way to Oxford University Parks, cutting through the park on the way to her flat.

It had been a perfect day. The sun had joined them, the food had been lovely (and she had enough to last her another two days – very important on student wages!) and his company, as always, was superb.

Walking hand in hand through the park they both wished this day would never end. He wondered if now was the time to ask. Heck, they had been a couple for almost a year now, and he knew she was the one, this was it.

She wondered what was going through his mind, he suddenly seemed quite far away, but still happy. God, she loved this man. She squeezed his arm and he flashed her that smile that could melt hearts and minds. He was thinking about something, that little frown on his face showed.

Suddenly, mind made up, he stopped in the centre of the bridge they were crossing and turned her to face him. She grinned at him, a quizzical eyebrow asking what he was doing. He cleared his throat and got down on one knee.

**Author's Note:**

> This could be either Jeff or Scott - take your pick!


End file.
